


sunset on the horizon

by kinpika



Series: BLUE [18]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: A bit soft as well, F/M, Hospital Visiting, Sidestep days, They're a little bit of dorks in love, pre-heartbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 14:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: You must’ve been too tightly wound, as you feel the tap again. Three times, inside of your right wrist. Relax your hand, and Charge doesn’t look at you, as his fingers slip into yours. As you lean into the static, like an old friend. Hover over the edges, until it bleeds everything out.





	sunset on the horizon

You truthfully are not sure why you were invited along this time. Hands in the pocket of your jacket, and you can feel the pack of smokes, smooth against the tips of your gloves. Nothing to catch on, and you shove the lighter in deeper. Don’t think about it. Purse your lips, thankful for the mask, and catch the way Charge smiles at you.

“You’re looking more pleasant than usual today.” Practically _whistles_ it out, with how you jam the button again.

And if you weren’t in public, you might’ve smacked him upside the head. So you settle for stepping into the elevator, waiting for the doors to shut, before pulling your goggles up. “Surely there is _someone_ else you could’ve asked along.”

“Anathema is out with Sentinel, Steel said politely ‘no’, I didn’t see Sunstream, and—”

Hold up a hand. “I get it.”

The smile settles into something with a little more self satisfaction than you’d like. “I don’t think you do.”

A tense moment, where it was not the first time you had debated doing something likely illegal to get the smug look off his face. But the door _dings_, and Charge leads you out. “Come along, Sidestep. Don’t want to be late.”

“I hate you.” Whisper it, under your breath. Caught in the mask, as you flip the goggles down once more. You know he caught it, anyway, with how he gives you one quick wink, before leaning over the receptionists’ desk.

This is the part where you stand to the side, arms crossed awkwardly over your chest. Maybe you should’ve worn the officially sanctioned Rangers associate outfit, with the fitted hood and mask. Not the getup that has you run a hand over your braids, tug them closer to your neck. Thankful people just can’t quite see your face, as you catch the flickers of thoughts.

Especially the way that those receptionists look between you, as Charge shakes out his hand, before signing forms. All talk, all smiles. They’re swooning a little harder than usual, and you’re three steps over to the nearest vending machine, needing something to eat to kill the need to smoke, when he’s behind you again. See his reflection in the glass.

Three tugs, to your left. Until he pulls the braid free, and tightens it once more. “Good to go?”

One day, you wouldn’t be so blindsided. “Let’s get this bread.”

Charge laughs, and you feel the flicks of minds, a little less kinder, as you are escorted through. Hands out of your pockets now, flexing at your side. Hospitals were never pleasant, anyone could reasonably attest to that. But you are boxing yourself in, to only this immediate little space, the tile in front. The one after that. Don’t think about the place beyond the doors you pass, or how you go through into the ward.

You must’ve been too tightly wound, as you feel the tap again. Three times, inside of your right wrist. Relax your hand, and Charge doesn’t look at you, as his fingers slip into yours. As you lean into the static, like an old friend. Hover over the edges, until it bleeds everything out.

Just you and him and the doctors that smile, cameras at the ready. Swallow your pride, as you are pulled into the room. Charge’s left, peering just over his shoulder at the number of wide eyes that greet you. For a moment, you let yourself feel it. The absolute joy, that goes off in the distance, fireworks. A dozen eyes, looking up at Marshal Charge, hero to the Los Diablos Rangers.

Smiling. That’s what you’re doing. Feel your cheeks raise and when he sees, you clear your throat, look the other way. Ignore the little speech he gives, and peer in again. See the world in bright lights, tunnel focus. Not unlike yourself, probably.

Don’t know how you felt about that little revelation, as Charge walks ahead now, crouching down in front of where the kids had gathered. Hand out, and there is a tense moment where you’re half expecting some sort of electric shock, but one of the boys shakes Charge’s hand, proudly, and you let out a sigh of relief.

Not the only one, judging by the way a few nurses seem to relax. Like some tension was broken in the room, and it’s louder now. Happier. Bumbles of answers as they get closer and Charge shakes another’s hand, says they’re too strong for him. Laughter bubbles up, and you can see it burst and pop above all their heads, balloons and shapes.

Settle yourself in, against one of the beds. Hold tight, in the way there are few looks spared your way. Charge lifts two kids up, another clinging to his back, and you stop yourself from telling him, no, don’t. Not when you see that smile. When he twirls, and they squeal and laugh and. _Huh_.

You don’t recognise that face. Thought you were getting pretty good at it by now. Adjust the way you cross your arms, and watch the way his smile grows.

Not that you had any recent four am sort of conversations, about the way he crouches down, eye level now. Talking about one of the stuffed bears that one of the girls carried, complimenting its bow. Gentle touch there, straightening it. Something said about a bear he had, back home, that was still sitting on the end of his bed. You can feel the way the glow brightens, warms, like pieces of a connection being put together.

Bite your lip, feel the way your pocket weighs you down, just a little. Fingers twitch and you’re. You can’t leave yet. You made a promise, anyway. Not that you were needed.

“Excuse me, Sidestep?”

Slow blink, and you look down. Watch the way the little girl seems to jump back, half a step, before no, coming forward again. Hands strong at her sides. Almost like she was readying herself to fight you. That was oddly adorable. “What’s up, kid?”

She has a flurry of thoughts, and you crouch down then. Scour her face, and see the way that they line up, with the worry of the gauze on her face, and when her mother might be coming to visit. Might even arrive in time to see you.

That makes you smile, a little. Tilt your head to the side, which she mimics. Earns you a giggle, and you poke her then, middle of her forehead. “Why aren’t you over there with Charge?”

“Don’t you mean _Marshal_ Charge?” And it would be such an innocent suggestion, if you didn’t suspect that perhaps Charge had told her to say just that.

But alas, just the wit of kids. So you correct yourself, if only because she seemed to smile a little easier then. “_Marshal_ Charge,” emphasis on the title, even though he was well out of earshot. “Don’t you want to talk to him?”

“All the others are.” You both look over then, at how Charge was on the ground completely now, listening to three different conversations while hold his hands out together, another kid smacking them away.

Crouch down now. “So, what’s up?” Friendliest tone you could manage, as she was not nearly as deterred as she should’ve been — even in the face of one nurse who hovered a little too close.

That gets you a look then, that leaves you very amused. How authoritative of the ten year old? Twelve year old? Hands on her hips and all but looking down her nose at you. “Where’s your mask? Superheroes wear masks.”

For a moment, you reach at your face, almost expecting mask and goggles to be gone. But you feel the edges of them, and no, you’re fine. It’s all good. “Marshal Charge doesn’t wear a mask,” you snap back, a little, not able to keep all the bite out of your mask.

Not that it deters her in the slightest, as her arms are folded over her chest once more. “But he’s the _Marshal_. He can do what he wants.”

“Oh, of course.” Roll your eyes now, not that she could see. “How could I forget?”

“But you always wear a mask,” and the conversation continues, like you hadn’t even breathed. “Why’re you wearing goggles? My brother wears goggles when he goes swimming.”

Notice the curious weight, there, at the fringes of your mind. But it’s interlocking with the little tidbit about her brother, do you swim? How the tangled ends of thoughts meet, going from telling you off about not having a mask, to how she can see so much but it’s not everything, not really. More than the papers. That’s when you reach up once more, don’t think too hard on what you were about to do.

Circle over the dials and the world tips a little lighter, a little clearer. Until the usual sepia tones are gone, replaced with the far too bright hospital room. Breathe, it’s okay, Logan. You don’t think of anything other than the way the little girl’s eyes widen, as she stares at you.

Hold a finger over your mask, _shhh_, as you wink. Nothing but a great big smile, just there, as her hands are clasped in front. And you can taste the questions, except you flick a quick look over to where Charge was now, upright. One last lot of handshakes.

“I think my goggles are cooler than the mask,” you say, when she’s closer again.

Something in her eyes there, little pictures working together. Changing the way you were perceived, and it’s not your own doing this time. “Yeah!”

“Sidestep, you ready?”

Mouth open, wanting to say something else, except she falters, a little, as you stand. Turn the dial up again, until you could tell your eyes were hidden. Barely at your hip you realise, and you pat her head gently. “Our secret, okay?”

That’s a grin worth risking for. Even as Charge wades over, hand on your shoulder. Smiles at the girl now, before a low, _you ready?_ And you nod. Waves and goodbyes and another grin that she can’t see, as she shouts after you. Encouraged past the receptionists, whose thoughts are not nearly as sticky and poisonous as they wanted to be. Something to be said, that maybe this day hadn’t been so awful.

Not that you admit that at all, as the corridors don’t quite meld into one, elevators in front of you now. Frown at the way it was ticking down to where you were, while Charge whistled a jaunty tune.

“You looked like you were having fun.” Baiting question, pulling you out of your head. One you can’t ignore.

Still slow with the admission of, “it wasn’t all bad, I guess.”

“Does that mean I can get you to join in with me next time?”

Step aside as people exit the elevator, and you duck in, as he jams the button to close. Fingers that wrap around your wrist, tugging you closer.

“You’re going to fog up my goggles,” you say, as the numbers click that you’re moving down. He’s still right in front of you.

And Charge grins, far too pleased. Solid kiss, right over the front of your mask, a little too loud. You groan then, as he laughs. Slings an arm around your shoulders. Let the silence fall as you walk out, separating only as another bed comes down the hall.

“Looked like you knew what you were doing.”

“Hm?”

Charge frowns at you, holding the door open. You’re out first, into the low afternoon light, stretching your arms over your head. Burn of need for a smoke at the back of your throat. “With the kids. How they were hanging off you and stuff.”

There’s a rather embarrassed chuckle then, and you catch him scratching cheek. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he looked mollified. Even as you hand him your mask, fishing out cigarettes and lighter while you settled in to wait for the car.

“That’s risky.”

He can’t see the way you eye him. “You ever think about it?”

A big sigh, hand through his hair kind, where he puts his weight on either foot before looking back up at you. “If things ever slow down, if there’s the right person—”

But you hold up a hand. “I’m not your mother, Charge. You don’t need to explain it to me.”

Faint blush, before the curious look is turned your way. “You? Do you ever think about it?”

Long drag, as you shove the pack and lighter back in your pockets. Around the cigarette, you mumble, “if things ever slow down, if there’s the right person,” which earns you a bark of laughter. Mask handed back.

“Alright, I get it.” Car was here anyway, and the face is smoothed into something professional, with how he greets the driver.

Stub the cigarette out with your shoe, get in beside him. Affix the mask and catch his stare once more. “What?”

“Logan, I uh—” Voice too soft, too personal. Not for the kind of place you were.

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you, for today. I mean it.”

So you lean back, head against his shoulder. Knock a fist back, gentle, against the middle of his chest. “Just for you… Ricardo.”


End file.
